


Caged Little Birds, Clipped Wings

by aroseandapen



Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Breakups, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Polyship, Guilt, M/M, Multi, Post Killing Game, vr au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:08:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25768705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aroseandapen/pseuds/aroseandapen
Summary: Rantaro remembers more than him, Kokichi realizes as the other visits him nearly every day as they recover from their time in their virtual killing game. Initially it's strange to him. They spent little time together in the game, so he doesn't understand why Rantaro would be so inexplicably attached to him. When he finally recovers some of his own memories from their school life before the game, he finally finds out why.And with his own hands inarguably stained with blood, the only ethical option is to set Rantaro free.Eventual oumamisai
Relationships: Amami Rantaro/Oma Kokichi, Amami Rantaro/Oma Kokichi/Saihara Shuichi, Oma Kokichi/Saihara Shuichi
Comments: 10
Kudos: 98





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is for a request I got off of my tumblr, [aroseandapen](https://aroseandapen.tumblr.com/). It ran kind of long so eventually it'll be a 2 parter. As a warning it'll take me a while to get back to this, I have other things I want to write so I'm taking a break from this one.
> 
> Also this starts with a breakup, and doesn't quite get to the comfort part of the hurt/comfort, but we'll get there in the next part, I promise.

Since waking from the killing game, Kokichi saw Rantaro far more than he had in the brief time he was alive inside of it. He didn’t understand, but the other boy visited nearly every day as they recovered. Sometimes they spoke, but more often they said nothing at all. Sitting in the chair at his bedside, Rantaro seemed content to just be in his presence.

“What are you trying to get from this?” Kokichi blurted out. He hated not knowing someone’s intentions, and he never could get a proper read on Rantaro’s behavior. The other always had an air of mystery around him during the game, and he kept careful control of his expressions on the outside of it. Used to being on the other side of the mask, being unable to peek behind Rantaro’s made Kokichi uncomfortable.

Rantaro appeared genuinely surprised. “Nothing. I just want to spend time with you,” he said, as he always did.

Kokichi pursed his lips. He didn’t believe him; Rantaro had to know something about their memories, as of yet locked away by Team Danganronpa’s meddling of their minds. “But why?”

Rantaro’s expression grew somewhat guarded. He shrugged, clearly attempting to appear detached. His gaze lingered on Kokichi though, even as he turned away. “No reason. I like being here with you.”

It wasn’t until a couple of weeks later, when Kokichi finally unlocked some of his previous memories with the help of intensive therapy sessions, that he found out why Rantaro hung around him so insistently.

The memories didn’t come to him in a flash, nor did he experience some dramatic reveal that had him gasping for air. Rather, it was quiet and anticlimactic, a remembrance of events he previously hadn’t, filling in gaps in his memory. He remembered their first year at Hope’s Peak Academy, how quickly he’d developed a crush on the laid-back, effortlessly handsome green-haired boy in his class. Kokichi couldn’t remember the details, but somehow they’d started dating.

Rantaro had been sweet, if a little patronizing without meaning to be. Sometimes he slipped into a big-brother attitude, his protectiveness of Kokichi sometimes coming off as an older brother rather than boyfriend. It made sense; Kokichi had seen it multiple times in the killing game. Before Rantaro had died, of course. It amused him to no end in the time he was able to exploit it.

Funnily enough though, Kokichi remembered that before their kidnapping, it had annoyed him. Despite acting childish at times, sometimes he believed that Rantaro didn’t take him seriously anyway. One day he had snapped, insisted that they might as well only be friends--or less, even--for all the difference it made, and then…

And then… Kokichi didn’t remember. Perhaps he had been kidnapped that day, that week, that month, but he had only vague sensations that something should be in the gaps that remained, for some length of time.

Kokichi bit the tip of his thumb, guilt and regret broiling in his gut.

Yes, he now remembered their relationship. But he also remembered his sins of the killing game. Miu, who he indirectly murdered, and Gonta, who was the pawn who did it. Later too, because of his involvement and reactions he didn’t anticipate, Kaito had lost his life as well. It didn’t matter how much Miu didn’t hold it against him or how Gonta insisted that he was complicit now that they were out of the game. It didn’t matter that Kaito was dying of his unknown illness and had meant to protect him from the arrow anyway. The blood still stained his palms, bright red and glistening when Kokichi closed his eyes.

Rantaro all this time was waiting for him. To return. To remember. Yet the person he waited for no longer existed; Kokichi was no longer the good person he used to be before the killing game.

And so he had to set Rantaro free.

The knock on his door came at the same time as usual, like clockwork, and Kokichi didn’t even need to open it to know who stood on the other side. He was still in bed, even though it was reaching close to noon at that point, his stomach aching from hunger, but his limbs too heavy to climb from the messy tangle of blankets around his body. Without the daily visits, Kokichi probably wouldn’t get out of bed since being discharged from the medical wing. Now that he remembered his previous relationship with Rantaro, however, he couldn’t drag himself up.

Rantaro knocked again when he didn’t answer the door. Kokichi’s chest throbbed with want. The person inside him from before the killing game wanted to reach out and take Rantaro’s hand, and bask in the warmth of the secret smile Rantaro gave only him. Gritting his teeth, he stamped out that yearning part of him. He didn’t deserve things like warmth and affection.

He wondered if Rantaro would stand there all day, if he didn’t answer the door. He’d never made him knock a second time before remembering their relationship. Rantaro would probably worry. And Kokichi would be disgusting for making him.

Fueled by a bitter hatred of himself and the things he’d done, Kokichi finally managed to drag himself out of bed. Dragging his feet over the carpet, he trudged to the door, pulling it only halfway open to stare blankly up at Rantaro’s face--exactly who he’d expected to be there.

He hadn’t noticed before, but the moment Rantaro’s eyes landed on Kokichi’s face, something lit up in the very back of his gaze. His face lifted a little, and his smile seemed a bit softer when he looked at him. Kokichi’s gut bubbled at the realization. He didn’t deserve that, not at all.

“I remember now,” Kokichi said quickly, before Rantaro could greet him. His grip tightened on the doorknob, knuckles white. “I remember some of school… and about us now.”

“Oh! You do?” The hope that blossomed behind Rantaro’s gaze increased his guilt tenfold.

And strengthened his resolve to end it.

“Yeah, did you think that I’d want to get back to things just ‘cuz I did?” A painful grin strained Kokichi’s face, channeling the guilty ache he felt into a mask of disdain. “Geez, how dumb can you be?”

Shock clouded over Rantaro’s expression. He opened his mouth, speechless, but Kokichi pressed onward. If he allowed Rantaro to speak now, he would lose his nerve entirely.

“Things are different now! And I don’t really like people that are clingy like that,” he chirped, but even he could tell his voice was just off the mark. “God, just move on already instead of sulking around your ex like a loser.”

Kokichi punctuated the hissed statement with a slam of the door. It snapped shut with a bang of finality, leaving him to shiver in the wake of what he’d done. On the other side, Rantaro remained silent. He wondered if the other had already gone, so disgusted with Kokichi that he could stand to be near the room for another second.

With a shaky exhale, Kokichi leaned against the door. A pounding knock startled him upright again.

“Kokichi! Hey!” As Rantaro’s muffled voice filtered through the door, Kokichi backed away from it. “Come on, talk to me!  _ Kokichi _ !”

His voice carried such unfiltered pain that Kokichi couldn’t stand to hear it. He pressed his palms over his ears to block out the sound, squeezing his eyes shut. Tears escaped the corners of his tightly-screwed eyelids. He couldn’t take it back though. And if he let Rantaro get through to him now, he knew he would yank open the door and throw his plan straight out the window.

Rantaro deserved better. This was the only way to make sure that he got it.

The knocking lasted an eternity. Kokichi remained frozen like a statue for minutes after the last sounds had reverberated into silence. Then, when it was at last clear that Rantaro had given up, he allowed himself to relax. The tension fled from his body, and he collapsed to the floor in a heap--a marionette with his strings cut.

Alone in the dark, even the sun blocked by the curtains drawn firmly across all the windows, Kokichi allowed himself to sob openly. A life like this, with grief and loneliness the only two flavors he allowed himself in it, was the least he could live for all the things he had done.

He didn’t bother dragging himself back to bed. Kokichi lay where he fell, until the ache in his joints from the uncomfortable position numbed, and the nausea from lack of food forced himself to close his eyes and escape back into sleep.

Another knock at his door pulled him back from his uneasy rest. Kokichi’s eyes blinked open, bleary and more exhausted than before he’d fallen unconscious. His eyes felt puffy, probably still pink from crying, and unattended-to tear tracks had dried on his cheeks. He tried to scrub them away now, intending to ignore his visitor. Rantaro was persistent, more so than he thought. Kokichi had made himself clear, even if it had been a lie, so he hadn’t expected Rantaro to come back around a second time.

Screwing his eyes shut, he tried to wait out the second wave of guilt as it washed over him.

“Kokichi? Are you in there?”

His eyes popped open. That was decidedly not Rantaro’s voice.

Kokichi rose from his tangled heap. His hair stuck out at all angles, bouncing back into a messy shape when he pushed it out of his face. Scowling, he took the two steps to the door, rising on his toes to peek out through the peephole, though the voice had left him little doubt as to who it was. Then, the identity confirmed to  _ not _ be Rantaro, Kokichi yanked open the door with a vicious scowl on his face. He wanted them gone quickly, and to scare them away before too many questions could probe into his true motives.

“What is it, Shuichi? I was busy with my beauty sleep,” he snapped, perhaps a bit too forceful in his delivery.

Shuichi looked taken aback--both from Kokichi’s appearance and the tone he’d addressed him with. He recovered quickly and rubbed the back of his neck. “You weren’t at dinner. Or lunch. No one’s seen you all day, so… I was just checking up on you.”

The corner of his lip twitched.

Kokichi scoffed, for the moment shoving aside his shock at how impossibly late it had gotten while he was unconscious. He could have his impending breakdown after he got rid of Shuichi. “That’s a lie. Geez, I wasn’t born yesterday, Shuichi.” He pouted to hide the rumbling disappointment in his chest. Whatever the real reason for Shuichi’s visit, it wasn’t for his sake. “Now what’s your real reason. Did Rantaro tell you about our nasty little breakup?”

Shuichi flinched. Bingo. The rumbling in his chest grew to a roar, and Kokichi pressed onward.

“Ah, I see. Did he send you here to convince me to take him back? Or does he want you to make me feel bad for doing it? Doesn’t matter either way, because it’s over between us, and I don’t care anymore so--.”

Kokichi didn’t get to finish his speech. Before he got out the words ‘so he can just get over it’, Shuichi cut across him, suddenly stepping into the room.

“No, that’s wrong,” he said, earnest. “It’s true Rantaro told me about what happened, but he didn’t ask me to come here. I’m not here for him, either. I did come to check up on you. I thought you might need some company. So… here I am.”

_ What _ ?

“What?” Kokichi echoed his thought aloud, blinking. “You’re lying.”

Shuichi shook his head. “I’m not. I’m here for you.”

Kokichi searched his face, and then again, eyes darting as he tried to suss out the slightest hint of a lie in Shuichi’s demeanor. When he didn’t find it, he looked again, closer. He pressed his lips together, unwilling to believe that Shuichi meant what he said no matter how honest he appeared.

“Why?”

It was a simple question. He didn’t understand why, after all the things he’d said and done during the killing game, Shuichi would even bother. Shuichi was even the one who’d said he’d always be alone, which had stung despite how well-deserved he found it.

Yet he didn’t expect the flicker of genuine surprise it generated in Shuichi’s expression. His eyelashes fluttered open wide, lips parting. As quick as he recovered, he still sheepishly dipped his head, rubbing the back of his neck again.

“Because, after all that happened…” Shuichi’s hand slid from his neck, eyes steady and searching on Kokichi’s face. It made him feel uncomfortably transparent, something which he would balk against if it wouldn’t make all of his motivations painfully clear by doing so. “...you deserve someone to check in on you, make sure you’re ok.”

Kokichi pressed his lips together. “What makes you think I’m not ok now? I’m the one who broke Rantaro’s widdle heart you know,” he said.

Shuichi nodded slowly. “I think you’re hurting much more than you let on.”

A lump formed thick in Kokichi’s throat. He tried to work up the energy to snap at Shuichi, or at the very least to slam the door in his face.

Exhaustion slammed into his face; suddenly, the will to fight drained out of his body. Kokichi’s shoulders slumped. As much as he didn’t have the energy to deal with any prying questions Shuichi might have, he had even less of it to pretend that his heart hadn’t shattered from what he had to do. Even now, the shards still cut deep into his chest.

Kokichi pushed the door open, taking a step back. “Fine. If you’re so nosy…”

His words had no bite to them, and Shuichi hardly acknowledged them anyway as he took the invitation into the room. He rested a hand on Kokichi’s shoulder, warm and sympathetic.

Despite the cloud of gloom suspended over his head, the simple gesture alone removed some of the burden that hung around his neck. Kokichi sighed, tinged with relief, before he once more withdrew into himself.

He still would refuse to talk about his true intentions in breaking up with Rantaro, but he didn’t mind a small bit of company, just for a little while.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shuichi has taken to spending time with Kokichi daily, worried about the other. He’s not sure how much is to assuage his own guilt after what he’d done--sometimes what he hadn’t done--but he knows he doesn’t want Kokichi hurting after all is said and done.
> 
> Little by little, he tries to pull Kokichi out of his self-imposed solitude.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought it was going to be a two-parter, but I swapped to Shuichi's POV so I decided to make it 3 parts from the POV of all of them.

When Shuichi told Rantaro that he’d gone to see Kokichi the other day, a myriad of emotions played across his face: heartbreak, jealousy, relief, longing. It looked as if Rantaro didn’t know what to feel. An instant later, they all vanished, locked behind his guarded mask he usual wore. He unfortunately couldn’t disguise neither the rawness in his throat when he spoke, nor his stammer.

“How… how is he?” he asked, inclining his head toward Shuichi. “He let you in?”

Shuichi swallowed, and nodded. “He’s not… been doing well, but I got to spend some time with him. Yesterday too, he let me in. I brought him lunch.”

“I see,” Rantaro said simply. They stood in silence for a minute as he processed Shuichi’s answer. Then, he asked, “If he’ll let you… take care of him for me, alright?”

He’d never heard Rantaro sound so quietly hurt before, and the demure way his eyes fell to the ground surprised Shuichi even more.

“Of course."

Shuichi already planned on doing just that.

\----

Kokichi made it hard, however, to get him to take care of himself. He wouldn’t go out to eat, but Shuichi could bring him food from the cafeteria. Getting the other to eat, and seeing some of the exhausted frailty behind those haunted lilac eyes lift, was at least a start.

Shuichi held the wrapped lunchbox cradled against his chest as he knocked on the door. It opened almost immediately, the fastest time yet. Kokichi, it seemed, had started anticipating the time he came each day.

Their eyes met and although Kokichi’s frown wore like a heavy weight on his mouth, his face still brightened with a hint of joy. Shuichi smiled. Previously, he’d felt a significant amount of guilt when he saw Kokichi’s face. It reminded him of his failures back in the killing game--his inability to understand Kokichi one of them. With each meeting they had, however, the guilt grew less and less. And from the faint look of Kokichi’s features, Shuichi hoped it was a mutual experience.

“Ooh, what’s in the cup?” Kokichi asked, nodding to the foam to-go cup balanced on top of the lunchbox and secured beneath Shuichi’s chin. His voice had begun to regain some of its characteristic playfulness from before.

“Whisky,” Shuichi said, without a hint of laughter.

Kokichi caught him out on it anyway; his open-mouthed shock was too dramatic to be genuine. “ _ Shuichi _ ! Trying to get me drunk? I  _ trusted _ you!” he accused.

Shuichi passed the cup off to Kokichi. The other mewled in surprise at the heat leaching through the styrofoam. “At least I’d be honest about it, right?” He smiled. “It’s hot chocolate, actually. Since it’s getting cold, I thought it’d be a good idea to bring.”

The room was always cold. He wondered if Kokichi ever bothered to turn on the heater, or if he lived underneath the blankets while Shuichi wasn’t there anyway. The latter was most like, he decided.

His fingers curled around the cup, Kokichi pouted up at him through the steam rising from the lid. “Then you lied to me. That’s so  _ rude _ ,” he said. The energy behind his voice had diminished; he’d run out of the energy to joke around.

“Sorry. I’ll be honest next time.”

Shuichi ushered Kokichi to the couch. The other’s legs gave out immediately, dropping so suddenly that Shuichi gasped and threw his hand over the lid of the hot chocolate. Nothing spilled out, thankfully. He passed the food over, and took a seat next to Kokichi. From the corner of his eye, he watched Kokichi unwrap everything and begin to eat.

“There’s an ice cream place nearby…” Shuichi began, cut off by a snort from Kokichi.

“Isn’t it too cold?” he asked, incredulous.

Shuichi shrugged. “They serve fried ice cream. It’s pretty good I’ve heard.” He paused, glancing over to Kokichi to gauge his interest. When Kokichi gave him nothing, he added, “We should go sometime.”

Conflict pinched Kokichi’s face. It would involve leaving the facility, and Shuichi knew that Kokichi despised the idea. The promise of a fun change however, he hoped, would warm him up to the idea of it.

Kokichi sighed, relenting, “Sure. Not today, though.”

“Not today,” Shuichi agreed. His heart lifted in his chest, dancing around like he’d successfully asked someone out on a date. He brushed it away, letting his shoulder gently bump against Kokichi’s. “Sometime soon, though. Before it gets  _ definitely _ too cold for ice cream.”

\----

A few days later, Shuichi was woken in the middle of the night with a knock on his door. He pulled a sweater over his pajamas and shuffled over to answer it, only to come face to face with a distraught Kokichi. His eyes were red, a little puffy around the perimeter, and he had dried tear tracks on his cheeks. His hair was tangled and disheveled from just rolling out of bed, and his arm somehow made it out of the neckhole of his shirt rather than the sleeve.

“Kokichi?” he breathed, half-wondering if he was dreaming. He’d never seen the other in such a mess like this. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing! Nothing’s wrong, geez, silly…” Kokichi laughed, but it sounded more like a distressed gurgle than amusement. He rubbed the heel of his hand against his eye, turning his face away. “Nothing, I’m just… bored! That’s all, so I came to bother you.”

Shuichi grabbed the hand Kokichi ground against his eye. Kokichi didn’t yank it away, and so Shuichi didn’t release it, afraid that he would hurt himself with the rubbing if he let go. He gently pulled Kokichi into the room with him. “Come in, sit down.”

Kokichi murmured something under his breath and nodded. Shuichi led him to the couch, where they could comfortably sit together until either Kokichi told him what happened, or otherwise calmed down from it. His eyes scanned over his form. Kokichi must’ve come over in a panicked fervor, since he hadn’t even managed to dress properly, nor had he composed himself from crying. A nightmare, maybe, and he’d come straight to Shuichi’s room upon waking. Shuichi was well acquainted with those. Trauma and survivor’s guilt were hell of a thing.

Shyly, tentatively, Shuichi rested a hand on top of Kokichi’s head. The other’s eyes fluttered closed for a moment in response, and so he took that as encouragement to begin slow, firm strokes, petting down the back of his head. He took care to avoid catching his fingertips on the tangles in Kokichi’s hair. As he did, he thought about how he liked to be comforted in the wake of a nightmare. Company definitely helped, especially company that empathized with him. It made him feel less alone.

After a while, he cleared his throat and asked, “Do you want to sleep over tonight?”

Kokichi didn’t answer right away. He was silent for a while, then finally said in a lackluster tone, “If you insist, I guess.”

Shuichi didn’t insist, of course, but he let it pass. His hand returned to Kokichi’s, and carefully he pulled him back to his feet.

“Come on, let’s get to bed,” he said, “I’ll be right there for you if you have any nightmares. I promise.”

\----

After that, Kokichi slept over in Shuichi’s room more often than not. Sometimes it came with an excuse, sometimes he simply came over in the middle of the night with pursed lips and watery eyes. Shuichi couldn’t bring himself to question him, though he really wanted to tell Kokichi that he would be there and he would listen. He couldn’t find the courage, however, afraid that it would send Kokichi straight back into his shell again, so he let it hang in the air and brought Kokichi to bed.

Typically they started on opposite sides, often linked with outstretched arms, fingers curled lightly together. By the time Shuichi dozed off, however, Kokichi would’ve shifted into the open space between his arms, and he’d wake up with Kokichi’s face nuzzled into his chest. They never spoke about it the next morning, or ever really, but the inside of his chest still glowed with warmth thinking about the silent touches they shared.

Feelings he didn’t yet want to admit had seeded themselves deep in his heart. They came along with guilt as he remembered the heartbreak behind Rantaro’s eyes--dumped, still caring deeply for Kokichi but being unable to do anything about it. He uneasily drifted back to sleep, knowing that he deserved to be at Kokichi’s side the least out of everyone else.

Hours passed in an instant before Shuichi jolted awake with a gasp. His heart pounded with fear, but the brief nightmare he’d had was already slipped through the cracks in his brain. It didn’t stop him from trembling, however, the tremors wracking his body along with quick gulps of air that didn’t quite satisfy him.

“Shuichi?!”

It was his own fault, all his fault, he wasn’t strong enough, not smart enough, not observant--

“Shuichi!”

Kokichi grabbed the sides of his face, forcing Shuichi to look at him. His brows furrowed in worry, teeth sinking into his lower lip as he scanned Shuichi’s petrified expression.

“Look at me,” he said, his voice firmer than Shuichi had heard since the killing game. “Look at me, it’s ok, I’m here. I’m right here.”

Shuichi recognized the words of echoes of what he had said to Kokichi before. He didn’t respond right away, allowing his unfocused gaze to remain on Kokichi’s face, trying to outrun the feelings that remained after the faceless nightmare he’d had. Slowly, he raised a hand, allowing his palm to cushion Kokichi’s cheek, fingers played out against his soft skin. He ran his thumb along Kokichi’s cheekbone.

Finally he found his voice. “Thank you,” he whispered, unable to speak any louder. “I feel… a bit better now.”

He curled his fingers tightly as the shame overtook him. His vision swam with tears and the regrets came spilling out of his eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Kokichi.”

Kokichi pressed his lips together, but shook his head. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“You deserved better. You deserved  _ way _ better back then,” he insisted, his throat raw and hoarse.

The desperate whisper silenced Kokichi. His face was stricken, conflicted with the depth of his feelings, whatever those feelings were. Shuichi didn’t think he would ever know. A tremor ran through his body at the possibility of Kokichi pulling away then, realizing that Shuichi was selfish to the core.

Instead he laid down next to Shuichi, resting his head atop Shuichi’s jerkily rising-and-falling chest. His hand found one of Shuichi’s, and he threaded their fingers together. Shuichi didn’t know whether Kokichi was giving or trying to receive comfort himself, but they squeezed each other’s hands regardless.

“Tomorrow,” Kokichi whispered, his voice more a vibration into Shuichi’s collarbone, “let’s go to that place… let’s get some fried ice cream.”


End file.
